The Sea Spirit
by MizJoely
Summary: Captain Sherlock Holmes is saved from drowning by a being he would have sworn could not exist. Inspired by the fantastic merlolly artwork of artbylexie (amalia kensington), cover image used with permission.
1. when moonlight glimmers dim

_When moonlight glimmers dim_

 _I pass in the path of the mist,_

 _Like a pale spirit by spirits kissed._

 _At dawn I chant my own weird hymn,_

 _And I dabble my hair in the sunset's rim,_

 _And I call to the dwellers along the shore_

 _With a voice of gramarye evermore._

 _And if one for love of me_

 _Gives to my call an ear,_

 _I will woo him and hold him dear,_

 _And teach him the way of the sea,_

 _And my glamor shall ever over him be;_

 _Though he wander afar in the cities of men_

 _He will come at last to my arms again._

From _The Sea Spirit_ by Lucy Maud Montgomery

* * *

Captain Sherlock Holmes valued cold, hard, rational thought above all else. He scoffed at sailor's tales of the kraken, of sea monsters, ghost ships and most of all mermaids. What manner of creature could exist with the head and torso of a woman and the tail of fish? How could such a creature come into existence? Did she lay eggs for some male version of her species to fertilize, or did she have some form of mammalian uterus and give birth to a live half-fish child?

Such were the mocking questions he'd laid at the feet of Anderson, the coxswain when the idiot had been expounding on the dangers of such creatures. Questions he'd uttered rapid-fire without waiting for answers, confident that none were forthcoming.

Ah, how the fates - if such existed, which he doubted somewhat less now than he had only days ago - must be laughing at him now. A fierce battle with Jamaican rum runners, a freak storm, and here he was, thrashing about the ocean, grimly resigned to his death, when she appeared.

He was positive she was nothing but a waterlogged hallucination, the last gasp of his dying brain offering up some ridiculous form of hope, but that belief vanished when he felt her strong arms around him, tugging him back up to the storm-topped surface of the water. As he coughed up the seawater he'd swallowed she brought him to a drifting bit of wood - no, it was a rowboat, no doubt torn from its moorings against the side of the ship and fortuitously near enough to serve as his savior. Still semi-conscious, eyes bleary from being beneath the tumultuous ocean's surface for so long, he managed nonetheless to capture the details of her face as she literally shoved him into the rowboat: long, flowing chestnut hair, enormous brown eyes, brow knitted with either concern or concentration as she pushed his legs over the edge to join the rest of his body. Her skin was pale, nearly luminous in the flashes of lightning, but as he tried to croak out a thank you, she pulled away, smiled, then dove beneath the waves.

The last he saw of her, this mythical woman who couldn't possibly exist, was her tail, iridescent reds and yellows striped with darker blue or possibly black, like some impossible, water-dwelling tropical bird.

As darkness overtook him, his last thought was one of determination, a silent, private vow to himself.

 _I will find you._


	2. come at last to my arms again

_A/N: I know, I know, these were teeny tiny chapters and should have been a one-shot but I was inspired by two different pics by artbylexie so I had to make them two chapters. I hope you like it and thank you for reading!_

* * *

Three months later found Captain Holmes and his crew on their new ship, a sleek beauty he'd named The Sea Spirit. First Mate Lestrade had arched his eyebrow when Holmes announced the name. "Bit fanciful for you, isn't it?" he'd asked with a smirk.

Holmes had ignored him, just as he continued to ignore his continued attempts to find out why 'Captain Machine' (he'd heard crewmembers mutter that nickname behind his back) had suddenly found his whimsical side. Nor did he allow anyone to question him as to why he suddenly felt the need to spend so many nights playing his violin on deck , rather than in the relative privacy of his quarters.

Anderson, of all people, came closest to the truth without even knowing it. "Playin' to the mermaids, he is." Then he'd tapped a finger against the side of his head and given his mates a significant look, which Holmes also ignored. He was long since used to people considering him odd, members of his own crew no exception.

Another three months passed in this manner as they patrolled the Caribbean, and Sherlock almost decided that he had, after all, had a particularly intense hallucination when his musical efforts paid off. He nearly dropped the instrument into the ocean when he saw her head and shoulders break water, the moonlight and rippling waves giving her a ghostly look. He leaned over the rail, gripping it with one hand, bow and violin in the other, and met her gaze.

She reached up and beckoned him down; without hesitation he laid his violin and bow on the deck, clambered up onto the rail, and dove beneath the waves.

She was there, waiting for him as he curved upright and opened his eyes. Holding his breath he nonetheless manage a smile, which she returned shyly. He spread his arms wide and held her close when she swam into his embrace, her whispered words as clear to him somehow as if they were still above water. "I'm Molly, and you're Sherlock, I heard your men calling your name." She gave him another shy, sweet smile. "Have you come to stay with me this time?"

He responded with a kiss, the sweetest he'd ever tasted despite the saltwater that surrounded them. And when he felt the rippling changes in his body he laughed aloud, breathing in the water that would forevermore be as air to him, swimming away with her without so much as a backward glance at the cold, empty life he'd left behind.


End file.
